


Have A Nice Trip

by frodogenic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8104591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frodogenic/pseuds/frodogenic
Summary: The most unlikely hero imaginable inadvertently saves the galaxy from evil dominion and oppression. And Luke thought it had to be hard… ROTJ ends just a bit differently.





	

**HAVE A NICE TRIP**

 

* * *

 

From the spidery perch of his throne seat, Palpatine regarded the ongoing duel with supreme satisfaction. Everything was, indeed, proceeding according to plan. Of course, it was not as though he'd ever had any doubt. He'd manipulated tens of thousands of Jedi into extinction in his time. What was one more? 

Granted, this one was putting up a better fight than most of his predecessors combined. Within the privacy of his own mind the Emperor was quite willing to admit that the whelp had a fair bit of talent, as far as Jedi went. Unfortunate that he’d inherited his mother's obstinacy to go with it. Really prime material like his current apprentice—oceans of ability and barely any backbone—well, it was a lucky Sith lord who came across that combination, and he couldn't expect to discover two such specimens in one lifetime.

He'd been a bit hopeful, just a smidge—the two _were_ directly related, after all—but if he'd really thought that young Skywalker would prove acceptable, he'd never have let Vader hare off after his upstart spawn in the first place. Whatever his apprentice might think, the junior dark lord's fledgling ambitions to dispose of his master were neither secret nor unanticipated. Sith apprentices had been betraying their masters since time immemorial. He was rather disappointed that it had taken Vader this long to get serious about the business. Made things boring. 

Yes, when one ruled the known galaxy, one always had a horde of subordinates hoping to plant a knife squarely in one's back—or other convenient vital organ, most of them weren't particular—but Palpatine's splendid intellect had not had a proper challenge since that last game of checkers with his late unlamented master. It had been several tedious decades since he'd forgotten anything, even something as minor as his evening facial cream treatment. Of course facial creams had become pointless after that incident with Windu, but after keeping up the regimen for so many years, he was as fond of his seven-thousand-credits-per-bottle D'Orlay Corellian Cocoa Anti-Wrinkle Cream as anything or anybody else in his life. Which wasn't saying much, because he paid far too much attention to detail to nurture any sort of meaningful trust or affection. 

Besides that, he had been consciously avoiding all use of words like "nurture," "trust," and "affection" since graduating from Pull-Ups to boxers. 

But despite the fact that this young Jedi had (or at least Palpatine devoutly hoped he had) long since bade his Pull-Ups farewell, it appeared he had yet to excise such childish terms from his vocabulary. The idealistic idiot had just catapulted himself up to a catwalk and was now declaring the presence of "goodness" in his biological ancestor. Sadly the Emperor shook his head. Although, for the sake of distracting Vader from his treacherous designs, he had made a show of bringing the boy here and attempting to convert him, it was even clearer than he had thought it would be that the irksome Rebel was a lost cause. Even as a ten-year-old, Anakin Skywalker had never been so blatantly idealistic. The boy might look like his father, but truly he was Padmé Amidala's son. 

Pity it couldn't have been a girl, Palpatine mused—a girl, yes, with her mother's impressive looks and her father's temperament. Now _that_ would be an ideal combination. Functionally practical, yet aesthetically pleasing. He regarded father and son regretfully. Well, no use crying about it. Vader had plenty of skill remaining, if no sex appeal, and it wasn't as though the brat had a missing fraternal twin somewhere built to his specifications. That was the sort of idea he ought to have had while the parents were still reproductively viable. He might have had the Kaminoans craft exactly the child he wanted. 

Alas, dear Padmé was no more. And as for her husband…well, a few limbs weren't all he'd lost at Mustafar. Poor chap, Palpatine thought with halfhearted sympathy, it was scarcely a wonder he’d been in a temper ever since... 

Hmm. The junior Skywalker _was_ a healthy specimen. Perhaps he could be kept for breeding purposes. Palpatine contemplated the gleaming vision of a dozen little blond-haired, blue-eyed, doggishly devoted prodigies for a few shining moments before hastily discarding it. He might have duped a galaxy, but he doubted he was equal to the task of containing a juvenile Skywalker. The original had been immolating Trade Federation flagships before he had graced the galaxy with his presence for a decade, and _this_ one had begun blowing up moon-sized battle stations in his teens. Normal children had the grace to wait for the crawling stage before learning how to wreak havoc, but Skywalkers probably started demolishing houses in the cradle. 

No, no. Not without a twinge of regret, Palpatine decided he would have to write off Luke Skywalker altogether, out of regard for the peace of his old age. Putting himself through the rigors of converting and training another rambunctious youngster at this age was a recipe for disaster. He'd have to finish playing out the charade for Vader's sake, naturally—his apprentice was not perfect, but one did not simply fling three decades of personal investment out the viewport.

Pathetic as it might seem, that two-and-a-half-meter prosthetic-riddled walking melodrama was the future of the Sith Order, after all.

Well. Eventually, that was. He didn't plan on kicking the bucket just yet. Dark side knew Vader still had plenty to learn before he would be sly enough to catch his master unawares. Nothing, not the most minor threat to his safety, escaped the Emperor's scrutiny, certainly not the bumbling plots of his belligerent disciple. He would have to resign himself to waiting for Vader to brush up on his cunning. 

The prospect almost tempted him to let young Skywalker live to fight another day. That boy was the most exciting thing that had happened in the Empire since its inception, frankly. Palpatine hadn't expected him to last five minutes against Vader at Bespin, but the uppity brat had survived to lead the entire Imperial Navy on a merry six-month wild goose chase across the entire known galaxy. In an exhibition of sheer gall that trumped even the destruction of the Death Star, the little guttersnipe had actually snuck onto _Coruscant_ , right into Imperial City, blowing up the planet's third largest superstructure, a skyhook, and the wily Xizor before blasting his way back out of system. And now, as the almighty screeching crash of a collapsing catwalk informed him, the runt was inciting his paternal unit to hack Palpatine's throne room to pieces… 

Hmm. 

On second thought, he'd let this walking Force-sensitive liability draw air long enough. 

As Vader prowled into the collapsed durasteel maze, attempting to ferret out his elusive offspring, Palpatine rose deliberately and started towards the stairs. All was planned perfectly. He would allow his apprentice to flush the Rebel out of hiding and pummel the boy into defeat, then—when the obstreperous brat inevitably defied him yet again—use the excuse to fry the youngster like a rat in an anti-pest energy field. Straightforward, uncomplicated, no detail unaccounted for; he defied the entire unholy pantheon of Sith Lords past to produce a more flawless scheme. In a few more moments, his Empire would once more be as secure. The Rebel fleet would be so much space dust, the last Jedi would be an energy-shriveled corpse, his apprentice would have to recommence his treacherous designs from the beginning, and he himself would be free to ponder more pressing issues, such as whether or not he ought to try the new D'Orlay Alderaanian Arralute Toe Moisturizer— 

And then, all of a sudden, something unexpected happened. The very fact that it was surprising surprised him all over again, so much so that he yelled for the first time in twenty years, which of course surprised him for the third time. Then he felt a flash of horror, for the last time something surprising had happened, he had lost fourteen trillion credits of military infrastructure and one million personnel to a single teenage hotshot in a single outdated starfighter firing a single antiquated torpedo. And since he'd just been surprised three times, this disaster was bound to be three times worse. 

The second to last thing he thought was, _Curse you, Luke Skywalker!_  

The last thing he thought was, _I should have known this would happen when I ran out of D'Orlay this morning._

 

* * *

 

Vader had only proceeded about five feet into the shadows of the collapsed catwalk, and was still debating what persuasive argument he should try next with his recalcitrant son, when someone screeched overhead. 

His first thought was, _Luke!_  

His second thought was, _That didn't sound anything like Luke._  

His third thought was, _The only person overhead is—_  

He never got to a fourth thought, for the screech was followed by a series of thuds, and he whirled around just in time to see the cloaked form of the Emperor hurtle the last few feet down the stairs and smash into the deck with a crack.

He stood in total disbelief, his lightsaber humming in his hand, for one full second before rushing out to Palpatine's side. "Master?" he rumbled, kneeling on the floor. 

When no response came, he inched his hand forward and gingerly tapped the shoulder. "Ah…Master?" 

Nothing. 

Expecting to be electrocuted for his presumption any instant, Vader tentatively reached out and rolled the Emperor over onto his back. 

Vacant, unblinking yellow eyes stared out of the shriveled face. Vader goggled at the unnatural angle of the neck. Slowly he picked up a withered wrist and watched it thump like so much spaghetti back to the floor. 

Surely it could not have been so easy. 

He straightened, and turned as he heard footsteps behind him. Luke had crept out from the shadows, his lightsaber hilt in hand. "Um…is he…" 

"Dead," Vader said. 

Their duel completely forgotten, Luke dashed over to inspect the miracle for himself. "It can't be that easy!" he echoed, astounded. 

Vader's eyes alighted on a small object that had skidded to a stop not far from his recently late master. "It appears," he said, walking over to it, "that he overlooked one elementary rule of self-preservation." 

"What's that?" 

He held the thing up. "Never leave objects lying at the top of the stairs." 

Luke took one look at it and immediately lost any semblance of composure. Desperately he clutched a hand over his mouth, trying to maintain an air of proper Jedi solemnity. 

The surviving Dark Lord glanced back at his predecessor's crumpled corpse. Well. It _was_ very ironic...To his own surprise, Vader found himself chuckling. It made a bizarre sort of wheezy noise through the vocabulator. Luke lasted another heartbeat before realizing what the sound was and collapsing on the stairs in hysterical laughter. 

"So now what?" Luke finally asked, once his howls of mirth subsided into something manageable. "Obviously you don't need me to help you get rid of him anymore." 

"An excellent point," Vader said. The Death Star gave an ominous shudder under their boots. "I propose a temporary truce until we have opportunity to discuss this turn of events." He hooked his lightsaber to his belt and held out his hand. 

"On one condition," his son said.

"What is that?" 

Luke pointed at the item in his hand—the tiny, insignificant, utterly indifferent object that had happened to fall in the Emperor's path, the one detail of the situation he had forgotten, the one tool of darkness he had never expected would turn against him. "I get to keep those handcuffs."

 

* * *

 

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> Guess he no longer needs those.


End file.
